The Choice
by homesweethomicide13
Summary: A man wakes up at the Halfway Point, and he is given a choice. A choice to change how he lived his life. A choice to make things better. LJ and BL.
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** The Choice  
**Author:** homesweethomicide13  
**Rating:** T  
**Pairing:** Several mentioned  
**Warning:** Profanities, may contain minor violence and character death.  
**Disclaimer:** Not mine.  
**Summary:** A man wakes up, many years in the future, and he is given a choice. A choice to change how he lived his life. A choice to make things better.

**Author's Note:** Hi all! Wow it's been a while... well this idea came to me and wouldn't go away, so I had to post it. First chapter is a bit short but the rest will be longer. This one would have been longer but I got to the end and felt like it was a good place to stop, so... the actual story will start in the next chapter. And yes, you can probably all guess who it's centered around. It's me, after all. Would I choose anyone else? Oh and there is some MAJOR ANGST going on here, so be warned. Bear with me, this will contain pairings that are CANON (shocking, I know) such as LiefJasmine and BardaLindal, but as it's not the main focus of the story, they will be in the background only, unless it's significant to the plot. Shouldn't be too long a story, as I know what I'm like with multi-chaptered stories... Anyway, enjoy!

**The Choice**

**One**

You've wondered your whole life about death – what it's like, what happens after. You've spent your whole life preparing for it, never knowing when it might catch you. It's terrifying, really. You hope to live a good, long life, and you hope for a peaceful death, painless if possible. You don't want to die young, unaccomplished, a failure in your own eyes. That is one thing you pray won't happen.

I've seen death, in many forms. I've seen men die – the brave and the young, the wise and the old. I've seen women die, and children too. I've seen death come to those of bad intent and evil will, to creatures of all shapes and sizes. Some have been peaceful, painless, or kind. Most have not.

As a soldier, you're expected to know death. To be familiar with it. To look upon it with the same expression as you would look upon a friend. A good soldier is not bothered by death. A good soldier is strong enough to cope with it. Death goes hand in hand with war, and war is what soldiers are made for.

I've seen too much death. So much that now I barely notice it. Another friend dies and I shrug it off as nothing. People may think me cold-hearted because of it, but they're wrong. Those who know me better know that I am not so, that I only react like that because I am too used to death. Too used to friends and family perishing whilst I can do nothing. I spoke earlier of the failure of dying young. I would prefer that to failing to protect those I care about. I would gladly give my life to save theirs.

I knew death from a young age. My father vanished from existence when I was but seven years old. He was never declared officially dead – just missing – but to a child that is like death. To never see someone again, to never hear their voice or be held in their arms ever again… that is death. I would know death again at the age of sixteen, when my uncle would perish right before my eyes. Because of me. I was a foolish boy, only just a palace guard, and too arrogant for my own good. I got myself into trouble, facing a danger I could not escape… and then he arrived, saved my life at the cost of his own. Nobody ever spoke a word of blame, never held me responsible. I did. Every day.

I used to think that was bad, feeling so utterly responsible for the death of one person, feeling that loss build up inside. Looking back now, that was nothing. Nothing compared to the pain, the suffering, the agonising loss of my entire world.

Four years later, I would be broken. My friends, my colleagues, my neighbours… all of them dead, or as good as. Everyone I knew, torn away from me, battered and bruised and beaten until there was nothing left but shattered memories. That was bad enough. But alongside this awful torment, I suffered something much worse. The biggest loss of my life, and the greatest pain I have ever known. This is the sole event that tore me to shreds and left me a broken man.

My mother's death.

No. My mother's _murder_. They told me she'd fallen, must have landed funny at the bottom of the stairs. A terrible accident. Such a shame. And who told them this? Her killer, most likely. For there is no doubt that she was killed. There is no greater coincidence on this land than a woman mysteriously falling to her death after overhearing a dark plan to invade the palace and kill the King and his family. I would curse both myself and the king for years to come, for she had told both of us what she had heard. The king had turned her away, believing her to have fallen asleep and dreamed up this tale she was telling him. I had believed her, for why would I not? She had never once lied to me in all my twenty years of life, and I did not for a second think she would start then. I had promised to protect her, promised that I would look after her. She was so certain that she was in danger. I should have not left her side, should not have gone back to work. If I had stayed with her, perhaps she would not have died. Or, perhaps, we would have both met our ends that fateful night… it cannot be known how things might have differed from what actually happened.

I still blame myself to this day. A fault of mine, I suppose, is that I always blame myself. I blamed myself for my uncle's death, and for the death of my friends and colleagues. I should have fought alongside them during the invasion, but instead I ran as my mother had instructed me to do so, for I always listened to her. I blame myself for every friend I have lost over these long years. I shouldn't, I know, especially when I am most certainly not to blame, but I cannot help but think I could have done something to prevent it. I often used to wish I could go back and change what happened. But what is must be, and must remain. I know that now. All of those losses… they made me who I am today. If I were not the man I am now, perhaps more people would have died, perhaps things would have happened differently, but for the worse? Again, it is impossible to know. But what I do know is that I would not change who I am, not for the world.

Who am I, you ask? Why, only the bravest, strongest palace guard of them all… or so it is said. I do not listen to such things. I have no need for high praise. I do my duty, and that is all that matters to me. Palace born and bred, but with none of the less endearing qualities of the nobles, who used to turn their nose up at anything (and anyone) they considered to be beneath them. My mother, and indeed all that knew me, used to say I did not belong in a palace. My heart was too great, my nature too kind. I was a man of the people, they said. Born to two high servants – the prince's nursemaid and the deputy palace guard – raised to be a proper gentleman, and grew up with one sole purpose – to protect my king and my people. At the age of seven I began to train with other boys to become a palace guard. At sixteen, I completed that training and earned my uniform. At seventeen, I reached the rank of 'Captain', at nineteen, the rank of 'Sergeant'. At twenty years of age, I could have been the youngest Chief or Deputy in history, if it had not been for the invasion that occurred but a week before my new position would have been announced. At thirty, I took on the challenge of keeping a ten-year-old boy out of trouble on the streets of the city. At thirty-six, I made a promise to that boy's parents that I would look after him as we made our travels through the land on a dangerous quest to rid our land of the evil tyrant who had invaded and enslaved us sixteen years before. At thirty-seven, I returned to the palace of my birth and I was given the dream title of Chief of the palace guards. At thirty-nine, I, along with my two companions and good friends, had successfully rid the land of all evil. At forty, I left my old home, my city, my family if you like, to start a new family in another town. Later that year, my dearest mother would have received her fondest wish – I was a father. She had always longed for me to settle down and have children. Oh, how she would have loved to see me now, for over the years my darling wife gave me five more children, totalling six in all.

You must learn now that I never longed for a peaceful, painless death. No. As a soldier, and as a man who would die to protect family and friends, I longed to die in battle, all glory and heroism, an honourable death. Every fight, every battle I entered, I prepared myself for the knowledge that I might not make it out alive, and I would find that every time I told myself this, it did not once unnerve me. I felt it slightly reassuring. I would die how I had always longed to die. For my king. For my people.

They called me the bravest. The strongest. And in my younger years, the fastest. None of those were necessarily true. My chief – that is, to say, the chief in the days before the invasion – was the one man who ever got it right. I wasn't the bravest, or the strongest, or the fastest. Not by a long shot. What I was, however, was the most determined. The most loyal. The most honourable. That is what made me the guard everyone talked about. If you kicked me down, I would get straight back up. I would fight until the end. And I still would.

I never achieved the title of the youngest chief in history. What I did achieve, however, is the title of the greatest chief the land has ever seen. Even now, having long ago given up the title and the job, those men still listen when I talk. If I bark orders, they follow them without hesitation, without question. If I walk into battle, they will follow me. They will fight for me, fight with me, no matter what the outcome may be. Because I will always be their chief.

Because I am the chief of every warrior in Deltora. I am King Lief's right-hand man, his soldier.

Because I am Barda, Deltoran hero.


	2. Chapter 2

**Two**

It was dark. Not the kind of dark you get at night, the sort of dark you can just about see in if you squint your eyes and focus really hard. It was the sort of dark that isn't even dark, it's just… black. There's no difference between opening my eyes and closing my eyes. It's all black, and I can't see. My initial reaction at first is that I have been blinded, but I quickly push that aside. I have been blinded before – and cured – and I learnt enough from the experience to know that blindness does not feel like this. But if this is not blindness, then what? I can feel panic beginning to rise in my chest but I force it down. There's bound to be a logical explanation for this. Just keep calm and find a way out of this situation. Take a deep breath…

Okay, that's unusual. It's like I'm not breathing. There's no intake of breath, no exhale. It doesn't even feel like my chest is moving. How is this possible? Alright… lift a hand and place it to your chest. Just relax. That's odd… and impossible. Not only is my chest not moving, but I cannot feel a heartbeat. This has to be a dream. This cannot be happening. It's not possible.

What is this place? It certainly doesn't feel like a dream – but then again, you can never spot a dream whilst you're having it. That's probably what it is. Some weird dream that I'll wake up from any moment. Just need to stick it out until then. I wonder… I seem to be able to move my arms, but can I move my legs? Can I explore this blackness? Not that there's much to explore, of course, and I can't exactly see where I'm going. Can't even see the hand in front of my face…

Okay, alright… I'll start walking. Who knows, maybe I'm just in a really, really dark room. Or a cave. Although caves tend to have some light, no matter how deep they go. And there's always a certain smell when it comes to caves, and I don't smell anything. That's a point, actually… I can't see, and neither can I smell. Which makes a bit of sense, since I'm apparently not breathing. Let's try speaking… Well, seems I can't do that, either, or maybe it's just because I can't hear anything. But… don't you need air to be able to talk anyway? This is just getting weirder and weirder…

So I can't talk, see, speak or hear. I'm not breathing, but I seem to be able to move my arms and legs, and I still have the ability to think, I still have awareness and common sense. So, at least some parts of my brain are working. I can feel things, like I could feel my chest beneath my hand earlier, but… I can't feel anything around me. Naturally, when you can't see and you walk somewhere, you hold out your hands so you minimise the risk of walking into something, but so far there's nothing here. No obstacles, no walls, nothing. Wherever I am, it's a large, empty space.

And I appear to be alone.

* * *

I've been walking for hours. Or, at least, what feels like hours. How can you tell in a place like this? Maybe there is no time here. In an empty black space that goes on forever, time is irrelevant. Time does not exist here, I can sense it. I haven't found anything yet. No light, or any sign that there's anything here. Maybe I've just been walking in the same spot, not actually moving anywhere. Perhaps my subconscious is merely filling in the blanks and making me think I am actually moving somewhere. I'm finding it harder and harder to convince myself that this is a dream. But… if this _is_ a dream, then it's a very strange one. I keep thinking I'll wake up soon, any second, but it never happens. Maybe this is what happens when people end up in comas. Do they dream like this, of a vast black space that goes on and on and on? Is that what's happened to me? I don't remember being in any sort of accident…

Although… there was that one battle. No, no that can't be it. That was relatively easy and not very many people got too hurt on our side. Maybe I can't remember what happened. That might explain a few things. But why did my subconscious bring me here instead of somewhere else? Why dream of nothingness when I could dream of so much more?

How long am I going to be in this place? How long until I wake up? I don't think I can stand being here for much longer. I don't like this feeling of being totally alone. I've never liked being alone. Never. Left alone without sight nor sound, not a soul to keep me company. Just me, all alone, for eternity. If eternity exists here, which I doubt it does. If there is no time, then there is no eternity. Just an endless existence in which I am all alone. I do not think I can stand to be alone here much longer.

It's always been a fear of mine. Ever since I was a young child being left alone in the darkness of my bedroom, the tree outside my window casting an eerie shadow across my floor, like skeletal hands reaching for me, I have been afraid to be left alone. That night, I'd called for my mother and father until they finally fetched me and kept me close to them all night. It would take several more attempts to get me back into my own bedroom after that. After my mother died, I felt alone. I had no other family, none at all. My friends were all dead, or dying, or taken captive by the Shadow Lord and his army. Everything I'd known and loved had been ripped away from me in just a few hours. If I hadn't found the lovely couple in the forge, I don't know if I'd have made it through the harsh years of the Shadow Lord's reign.

Maybe this is my hell.

Maybe I should just give up now. Curl up on the floor and give up. It's like this place is slowly weakening me, leaving me an empty, hopeless shell. I have no strength left to fight it.

And that's when I blink.

And I'm somewhere new.

* * *

"Hello Barda. It's nice to see you've made it at last."

I look up from where I'm curled on a hard, white floor. I don't recall lying down in that dark nothingness, but how else would I have gotten into this position? I'm in a completely white room, and I'm not alone. Three figures clad in long white robes are stood beside me, staring down at me. I push myself up onto one elbow, returning their gaze in a mixture of shock, wonder, and disbelief.

"Uh…" I mutter, unable to even form the words to vocalise my emotions. The middle figure, resembling a man with long white hair and a neatly trimmed white beard, smiled easily at me.

"I understand your feelings at present, Barda." His voice was smooth, like silk. "I know you must be feeling rather disorientated."

"Where am I?" I stand up slowly, a little shaky. I feel weak, as if I've been asleep for weeks.

"Halfway Point." It was the man in the middle speaking again. I give a quick glance at the others, just to give myself something familiar to keep my gaze. The never-ending whiteness of this place has been playing tricks on my eyes. The figure to the middle man's right was female in appearance, with long grey hair. The figure to the left was also female, but with long blonde hair.

I frown at the man. In my head I'm still trying to convince myself this is just a weird dream and that I'm going to wake up any moment and all of this will fade away and be forgotten through time. I notice for the first time that I, too, am dressed in white. It's just a simple button-up shirt, and plain trousers, but I can't help but notice the contrast between my clothes, the whiteness around me, the pale figures in white robes, and the thick dark black of my hair.

"Halfway Point? Where the hell is that and what the hell does it mean?" I know that I'm snapping out the words, but in my defence I'm rather frustrated with this whole situation, and my irritation is often conveyed in the way I speak. The man did not seem to react at all to my harsh tone, instead he just smiles widely.

"It is a place where you are given the chance to change the life you are living."

"Cut out the riddles, would you? I am not in the mood for games." If I have offended him, he does not show it.

"Here, it is better for us to show you rather than try to explain." He turns toward the white space behind me, and as I turn I realise that a picture is being displayed upon it. It takes me a moment, but I eventually discover that I am looking at myself, lying in my bedchamber at the palace, whilst Sharn sleeps in a chair beside me. "This is your current state. You were in an accident, an unavoidable one I am afraid, and you have not woken for weeks." I step closer to the image, staring at myself in the bed. I look pale, with several bruises splayed across my face, and a stitched wound on my forehead. I can tell from the rise and fall of my chest that I am very weak.

"Why are you showing me this?" I demand.

"Because you have reached the moment where you must make a choice." I turn my head as a hand descends on my shoulder, and I find myself looking into the pale eyes of the man. "This will be the most important choice you will ever make."

"What choice?" I sigh in frustration. The man laughs a little.

"All in good time, dear Barda." He senses my frustration, I am sure of it, for he takes an abrupt step back. "Now, it is time for you to do some thinking. Are there moments of your life, up until this moment, that you wish you could have changed? Any major event in your life that you look back and think, 'if only I'd get a chance to do it differently'?"

I pause, and think hard. It doesn't take me too long to find a number of things I would love to go back and change. I'd try and appreciate becoming a palace guard more. I'd make sure the friends I strayed from stayed close. I'd work harder at being a better guard. I'd try harder to prevent the rise of the Shadow Lord. I… I'd save my mother. I'd do so many things, if given the chance. I know I would.

"I can tell from the complicated expression on your face that you have a long list of things you would give so much to change. Am I right?" I am drawn back into the present situation by that man's voice, calling me back to the endless white space. I can only nod at him, my mind still deep in thoughts of what I would have changed. "Then perhaps you coming here is a blessing, for you."

I finally snap out of my trance. I register that he is looking deep into my eyes, and that the image of my pale body in the bed seems brighter, more magnified than before. The two women have moved, both standing in front of what I can only assume are old, wooden doors – painted white. There are chips in the paint, and they look a bit worse for wear, and the paint itself is slightly discoloured, making them stand out a little from the pure white space around them.

"Why?" When I speak, it does not sound like my voice. It is quieter, softer, than it's ever been.

"We are going to give you the chance to relive your life, Barda. If you accept our deal, you will wake up in the past, with all your memories of your life as it is now. You will be given one chance to change all those moments on that mental list of yours, and when you have lived your life to this moment once again, we will have another choice for you."

"And if I do not accept the deal?" I cannot help but question him. Curiosity has always been a major part of who I am.

"Take another look at yourself." He waves a hand at the image filling the space in front of us. "Your body is too weak. If you return to it now, there is a strong chance that you will never wake again." I fall silent as the words sink in. "Your choice now is to live your life again, live a better life, or… die." He looks into my eyes, and I know that I have no choice in this matter, not really. "So, will you take our deal, and live your better life?"

With trembling lips, I speak only one word. "Yes." The space seems to brighten further. The image disappears, and the two women raise their hands to what I assume is the ceiling. With a short, joyous laugh, the man places a hand on my head, and my vision fades to black.

And sixteen year old Barda sits bolt upright in bed, with eyes older than his face.

* * *

_**Author's Note:** Sorry for the delay, but I had laptop trouble and I've only just managed to get the document containing the first half of this chapter onto my new laptop. Spent hours working on this to make sure it was perfect to make up for the delay. Next chapter is when the main story really gets going, so I hope you'll all stick around to read what happens next with the 16 year old Barda! Thanks for reading, and please let me know your thoughts on this by sending a little review. Doesn't have to be much, just a few words if it's all you can think of! _

_- homesweethomicide13 _


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